THE BEST LITTLE HANDJOBS IN TEXAS
By Zachyboy
M/b, b/b, masturbation, oral, anal

Handjob #1.
Date: February 11, 2005.
Location: Amarillo, Westbound I-40 Rest Stop.
Boy: Jesse, 14.

What you did with Jesse: Got a hell of a handjob that turned into oral.

You stood next to him at the urinal watching him pee. He looked at your
cock. You looked at his cock. He looked you in the eye and shook his, very
deliberately showing it to you. You shook yours back and whispered, "Like
it?"

Nobody else was in there.

"Can I touch it?" he whispered. You took a step back. His hand wrapped
around it and you immediately chubbed.

"Hang on a sec," he whispered. "I'm gonna go tell my mom I have to poop."

He let go of your dick, zipped up and walked quickly out. You went back to
the farthest stall and waited. He came back in and wasted no time. He
unzipped your jeans, wrapped his hand around your cock and started
stroking. You did the same to him.

You stood there stroking each other, his head pressed up against your
chest. He looked up. Took his hand off your cock for a minute and smelled
his hand.

"I like how cock smells," he whispered.

You took your hand off his and smelled it too. Rich, acrid, sweet-sour boy
cock filled your senses.

"Great smell," you agreed. "Hot fucking cock, kid."

"Can I suck it," he whispered? You nodded yes.

He went down on his knees and his mouth was exquisite. He'd clearly sucked
a dick before...clearly. He did a fine job on yours. He took it deep and
you grabbed him by the head as you unloaded in his mouth. He didn't miss a
drop and he looked up at you and smiled after he swallowed it all. Licked
his lips. You offered to keep jacking his cock, but he pushed your hand
away.

"Gotta go," he shrugged. "They're waiting. Sorry."

You smiled. Told him thanks.

"Thank YOU," he smiled. "You tasted really good." He winked at you, smelled
his hand again. Left you throbbing and wanting more.

He left the stall, fast and happy. He was gone by the time you got out. A
drive-by handjob that turned into a mouthful.

What Jesse did that night when he got to his grandma's house: He fucked his
little brother David, 12. It wasn't the first time he screwed little
David's butt, but tonight he had a pent-up load of eagerness, thanks to you
at the rest stop. David barely got his pajamas on that night before they
were back down around his ankles, butt in the air, letting big brother
Jesse drool a little spit in his ass, then ride him good and hard until he
squeaked and shivered. Grandma's guest bedroom smelled like ass and cum
that night. Two or three times. Well into the early morning.

What Jesse was doing a year later: Still looking for guys to suck off at
rest stops. Making a few over-the-road drivers very, very happy along the
way. Still giving little brother David a run for his money and a stiff one
up the ass. Although David's 13 now and not so little anymore. And now he
likes to fuck back.

# # # # # # # # # #

Handjob #2.  Date: July 3, 2006.  Location: El Paso, Moonlight Motor Lodge,
Airway Blvd.  Boy: Javier, 12.

What you did with Javier: Fucked his sweet little culo.

You found him at the ice machine at about quarter to eleven at night. He
was sitting on the sidewalk, head leaned back against the machine,
sleeping. Firecrackers pop in the distance. Early-starters. Tomorrow's the
Fourth.

"Hey, buddy," you said, filling your bucket and waking him up. "Shouldn't
you be in your room?"

"Can't," he shrugged. "My mom has a customer."

Your eyebrow shoots up.

"Whenever she's with a customer, I'm supposed to sleep in the car until
morning."

Jesus, you think, rolling your eyes. Mother of the Year Award. You'd be
shocked, but you've been driving too long. Seen too many kids and too many
hard luck stories. This little guy's just one of many.

"What's your name, papi?" you ask him.

"Javi," he says, pronouncing it Hah-vee.

"Well, Javi," you say. "Pleased to meet you. Too hot to sleep in the car,
right?" And indeed it was, Texas muggy.

"Yeah," he says. "Sticky. No breeze. Not even when I opened the window. So
I came out here."

"Why don't you come back to my room," you offer pleasantly. And why
not. Javi's hot. And world-wise.

He shrugs. Stands up. Follows you back to your room. Not even afraid. Given
his mom's profession, he's seen it all. And probably been involved in some
of it too. He's not going to turn down a free room and a/c for the night,
just because the guy who's offering might have a hard dick. Which you
do. Which he knows.

You usher him into room 108, close the door, lock it, offer him a Coke on
ice, which he drinks gratefully. He asks if he can pee. You tell him
yes. He doesn't even close the door. Just pees with it open, his sweet
uncut cock in full view. He comes back into the room. Points at one of the
two double beds.

"Can I sleep a little first?" he asks. There's an unspoken promise in the
word "first" that makes your cock zing.

"Sure," you say, meaning it. Taking the high road, even if he sleeps all
night, poor little guy, so tired. And before you know it, he's out like a
light.

An hour or two later, you're sleeping too, when suddenly you realize
there's a warm naked body lying next to you, and a hot little hand stroking
up and down on your not-so-flaccid dick.

"Hey, buddy," you whisper. "You need some cock now?"

"Estoy cachondo," he whispers back. "Tienes ganas?"

You have no idea what he's saying, but as long as he keeps stroking your
cock like that, you don't give a shit. Javi gives a hell of a handjob.

He rubs your cock up and down. Stops to lick his palm. Lubes you. Jacks you
again. Goes down on you. Takes your cock in his mouth.

"Mmmmm," he says with a mouthful of dick and the vibration runs up your
spine and into your brain stem.

"Me encanta tu pito," he says, his tongue flicking across your cock. "Me
encanta mucho."

Again, your brain can't translate, but you don't care. Mouth-on-dick is the
universal language. Especially boy-mouth on man-dick.

You flip him around, his mouth on your cock, his sweet-smelly ass in your
face and you rim him good. Spread his rosebud open with your mouth and your
thumbs and tongue-fuck his hole. He tastes so good, like sweet copper and
dandelion stems. Like salty potato chips. He smells good too. Like sweet
french dressing. Like a boy who missed a shower.

Without a word, he pulls up. Straddles you. Slides slowly down on your
cock. Winces. Stops halfway through. Hocks spit in his hand. Lubes
you. Sits on it again. Goes deep. Sighs. Starts to move up and down on
you. Strokes his own hard cocklet while he goes down deep, taking your cock
into his colon. He's hot in there. Like a furnace. Like summer. Like
heaven. Like the fucking Fourth of July.

He grunts as you fuck him. Growls. Starts to talk dirty to you, and you
have no idea what he's saying.

"Jode tu madre ayer noche," he grunts.

You shove it up into him and you grunt back.

"Gonna fuck you hard," you tell him.

"Yo chinge a tu madre," he grunts again.

"Take my fucking cock."

You grab his hips and pull him down harder.

"Tu madre es una puta," he moans, eyes rolled back, loving your dick. You
give it to him just a little harder in return.

"Here it comes, papi," you whisper. "Gonna unload in you, Javi."

He gets excited. Jacks his cock faster. Grinds down on your dick, eyes on
fire.

"Jode tu madre ayer noche," he growls. Spitting out the
words. Moaning. Panting. "Yo cago en la leche de tu puta madre!"

And then he is shooting little drops and watery liquid on your stomach,
going "unngh, ahhh, unnngh," as you pull him down deep, as hard as you can,
and blast a shaking, explosive load of man-jizz up his ass.

"NNNGGGGH!" you grunt, driving it into him.

"Ungh, ungh," he whispers, shaking "Cojeme. Cojeme!"

"Good boy, Javi," you stroke his cheek. "Good boy."

"Chingate," he says, getting off you and going back to the other bed. You
watch his ass and you can see cum running down his leg. "Chinga tu madre,"
he growls, and he spits on the carpet. "Chinga tu hermana."

He looks so mad, you leave him alone. But before dawn, he crawls in bed
with you for a repeat. And this time he is tender. This time he kisses your
eyelids.

"Lo siento," he says. "I'm sorry I'm mean. I just get mad about my mom."

You hold him to you. Hug him. He cries a little and you kiss his tears
away. You spoon him. Enter him. Fuck him slowly. He sighs
contentedly. Pushes and wiggles back against you. You cum in him again and
you both fall asleep.

In the morning, he is gone.

What Javier did the next morning when he got back to his own motel room:
Took some money from the dresser. The john was gone. His mom was still
sleeping. Walked to the restaurant. Had huevos and leche. Big glass of
leche. Knocked on your door. Said goodbye to you. Hugged you. Thanked you
for taking him in last night. For loving him nicely, even though he was
mean.

"It's okay," you tell him. "Life makes you mean sometimes."

"Yeah," he shrugs. "A lot of times."

You kiss his forehead. Stroke his cheek. He takes his hand, holds it over
yours, and leaves it there for a second, on his cheek. His hand on
yours. Holding. Dreaming for a minute. Then he turns around, smiles, and
goes back to his room. It's a knowing smile. A smile of resignation. It was
nice, what happened. But you're not part of his world and he's not part of
yours. When you come back from breakfast, Javi and his mom are gone.

What Javier was doing a year later: Still fucking men and still swearing at
them as they filled him full of cum. He loves getting fucked, but he's
angry about his mom. Javi has a complicated life. And to this day, he's one
of your most vivid, most complicated memories.

# # # # # # # # # #

Handjob #3.  Date: November 1, 2007.  Location: Houston, Sarah's Spoonful,
Kirby Drive.  Boy: Colt, 8.

What you did with Colt: Jacked him off. Made him get his tingles.

You chanced upon Colt in the men's room after breakfast. You saw his mom go
in the ladies room with three little girls and a baby, so you knew she'd be
awhile.

When you walked in he was standing at the urinal. He was already done
peeing, but you saw him playing with his hard little dickie, which was cut,
cute and as big as your thumb. He quickly moved his hand away when he heard
you come in.

"That's okay, little buddy," you smile gently. "It feels good to play with
it sometimes, doesn't it?"

"Uh-huh," he admits, blushing. "It's still hard."

He turns a little to show it to you, as if to prove his point. It's
beautiful. He juts his hips forward, allowing you a good view.

"Do you want me to play with it for you?  I know how to make it feel really
good."

He hesitates for a second. Looks you over as if deciding, but the tickle in
his stick wins out. He nods his head "yes."

You usher him into a stall, lock the door and drop to your knees.

Taking his hard little nail between your thumb and your forefinger, you
begin stroking him up and down, a sweet little pinch at a time. He sighs
and rests his hands on your shoulders.

"We can't tell anybody, okay?" you remind him.

He pretends to zip his lips. He closes his eyes and lets you stroke him.

You lean in to smell his cock. It's sweet and sugary, like graham crackers
and maple syrup. You lick the tip.

"Hey!" he giggles. "You licked me."

"Watch this," you say.

You open your mouth and take it all inside. One long pull from the root to
the tip. Then another. Then another. Coating him with spit and suction.

"Oh wow," he whispers. "Wow, wow, wow."

You suck him quickly, back and forth. His hands grip your shoulders. You
cuddle an arm around his back for support. When you can sense he's ready to
cum, you take your mouth off and finish him with your thumb and forefinger,
stroking rapid-fast, up and down, until he squeaks, tenses up, little legs
shaking, and gets his dry cum. He shudders and gasps. His little dick
pulses, empty but satisfied.

You kiss it one more time and he shudders again.

"Tingles," he giggles. "You gave me tingles."

"You better go, sweetie," you tell him, pulling up his shorts and
briefs. You see a pretty little skid mark in his Skylanders undies. You
wish you had more time to investigate the other side of Colt. His peach,
his mounds, and everything in between. But you don't. No time.

You help him dress and send him on his way.

As soon as he leaves, you unzip your pants and take out your cock. Your
head is already sticky with free-flowing pre-cum and you're already rock
hard. It won't take long to lose this fuckload.

You stroke yourself into the toilet bowl, still smelling Colt's little cock
on your fingers. You bring your fingers to your nose and smell him
again. Spicy sweet graham crackers. You grunt and lose your jizz in the
toilet. There's a lot of it.

You think of his pretty little acorn tip and how hot it felt on the tip of
your tongue. How hard his little cock was as you stroked him to his shaky
little boygasm. Cute, tingly, shaky little boy cum.

You leave the rest room without washing your hands. You want to smell that
little graham cracker cock as long as you can this morning. It'll fade
quickly, but not until you get a few more satisfied sniffs.

You see Colt and his family leaving through the front door. He turns, makes
eye contact with you, smiles and makes another "zip a lip" gesture with his
fingers. Cute little cherub. You wink. He leaves.

What Colt did that night when he got home: Colt laid in bed and took his
little cocklet between his thumb and forefinger the way you did. He stroked
it up and down until it got really, really hard. He tried to suck
himself. Tried to put his legs over his head and get his dickie in his
mouth. He was trying to duplicate that special Hoover action you gave
him. He couldn't reach. Colt is limber, but he's just too little. He went
back to jacking, just like you taught him, and he squeaked, and he tensed,
and he shook like a leaf when he got his tingles.

What Colt was doing a year later: Colt has three sisters, and a year later,
they were 5, 6 and 7. So even though he couldn't reach his own little
dickie for a suck job, THEY could reach it easily. And he was happy to show
them how. They all told him he tasted good, like Teddy Grahams. And he
found out they all had something between their little legs that tasted good
too. There was a lot of tasting in Colt's house that year. Three little
girls and a boy. And they all had really big appetites.

# # # # # # # # # #

Handjob #4.  Date: March 14, 2008.  Location: Fort Worth, Grandma's Truck
Stop, Jacksboro Highway.  Boy: Caleb, 15

What you did with Caleb: Paid him $20 to jack you off.

The restaurant is slow today. The bathroom is empty. Caleb has a nice-sized
teenage cock and wandering eyes. He also has a pierced eyebrow and thick,
pretty lips. Jagger lips. He's clearly checking out your cock you pee next
to each other. His piss is a golden yellow honey stream. He's a boy who
takes his vitamins every morning.

"I'll jack it for you if you pay me," he says, matter-of-factly.

"$20?" you ask him, squeezing your chubbing meat.

"Deal," he says, squeezing his back at you. "No sucks or ass fucks,
though. I don't do that shit."

You shrug. Your ballgame, kid.

He leads the way to the stall. You step inside and he locks it.

"Pull your pants down," you tell him. "I want to see your cock while you
jack me."

He does. It's drop-dead gorgeous and hard as a rock, with a bush of blonde
boy pubes, trim and fine and downy-sparse.

You pull your pants around your ankles and let your dick spring free.

"Fuck," he mutters. "S'big."

He takes it in his hand and he strokes it masterfully. Clearly, this is a
kid who's used to stroking his own, and he does yours with equal
ambition. You moan a little in spite of yourself.

"You like that, huh?" he whispers.

"Oh yeah," you answer honestly.

"Gonna make you shoot," he promises. "You're gonna shoot it good."

"Fuck yeah," you mumble hotly.

"Gonna get your money's worth," he whispers, looking right at you and
licking his lips.

"Mmm, fuck," you groan. "Already am."

He leans up and bites your ear. You moan.

"Wanna shoot it on my titties?" he whispers in your ear.

"Oh fuck yeah," you grunt hoarsely as he jacks you back and forth. You're
gonna come in no time. You're dripping with pre-cum and on fire with the
need to shoot.

With his other hand he whips off his shirt in one swift movement and tosses
it behind him. Oh, fuck, he's sexy. He has a pierced nipple. Tight
tummy. Outie belly button. Hot.

"Shoot it on me," he orders, kneeling down, squeezing hard and jacking you
fast. "Shoot your load all over me."

What a fucking pretty boy. You look down at his cock while he jacks
you. He's hard too. You stare down at his pretty, tight ass below. "No
sucks or ass fucks," he'd warned you. "I don't do that shit." But oh, how
you wish he did. Looking down at that fine, creamy ass, you wish he DID do
that shit. You wish he did that shit GOOD.

That's all it takes. Staring at that beautiful ass and imagining fucking
it, you blow your load.

"Shit!" he laughs as it hits him square in the chest. "Fuck, man. Shoot it!
Aw, man! That's a LOT!"

It hits his neck. It hits his chest. It hits his tit and dangles off his
nipple ring. Fucking hot. Sweet strand of man jizz, dangling down like a
worm on a fish hook. He grins at you. Rubs some of it into his chest. Into
his tummy.

"Wicked," he grins. "You fucking CAME, dude."

He sniffs his hand. Grins again. Fuck that's hot. You'll jack off the rest
of the year with that picture in your mind. Him squatting on the floor
shirtless, hard cock pointing north, wiping your cum into his tummy,
sniffing his hand, grinning up at you.

"Smells good," he says. He swipes his tongue across his palm. You
groan. "Tastes good too."

He grabs his shirt, puts it right on over your sticky cum and smiles. Holds
out his cum and spit-slick hand. You fish out a $20 and tell him thanks. He
nods, leaves you standing, breathless and panting, jeans around your cowboy
boots.

Another drive-by handjob. Quick and dirty, by a boy who knows what to
do. Those are the best ones. A bargain at twice the price.

What Caleb did that night when he got home: "Hey, Caleb," get in here, his
dad yells from the other room. His dad's on the couch, beer in hand,
t-shirt on, watching the Cowboys game. Caleb comes in. Gives his dad a
smile. It's just Caleb and dad since his mom died four years ago. Dad whips
out his cock. It's already hard and ready. "Get your head down here,
Junior," Dad grunts, nodding toward his hard cock. Caleb smiles, kneeling
at daddy's feet. He's already salivating. "No sucks or ass fucks," he told
that trucker. "I don't do that shit."  What he meant was "I don't do that
shit with anybody but Daddy."  Caleb opens wide, relaxes his experienced
throat muscles. And another night begins.

What Caleb was doing a year later: At 16, Caleb had a boyfriend named
Aaron, and man, did they fuck. Every chance they got. They had to be
careful, because Daddy might find out and Caleb didn't want him to
know. Twice Daddy fucked Caleb with his boyfriend's jizz still sticky and
wet up Caleb's ass. Caleb thought he'd gotten away with it, but Daddy
knew. He'd heard the boys fucking as he stood outside the bedroom in the
hall, stroking his cock and cumming on the carpet. He didn't mind. He
thought it was hot, jizzing up his boy's hole while he was already wet and
full of another teen's fuck juice. Sperm mingling, daddy and boyfriend. Two
loads, wet and sticky, getting to know each other up there. Daddy liked
it. Liked it a lot. Jizzing in his boy, when he was already lubed and
squishy with another boy's cum. Nothing like a slender young cock to blaze
the trail. Leave a pretty little mess behind so Daddy's cock can slide in
easy. Caleb was happy boy that year. Double happy.

# # # # # # # # # #

Handjob #5.  Date: October 31, 2009.  Location: Corpus Christi, Staygood
Suites, Shoreline Blvd.  Boy: Mason, 10.

What you did with Mason: Sucked his cock and fingered his ass. He started
to blow you, then changed his mind and jacked you off instead.

Mason was funny. A mischievous boy with a bright smile and teasing
eyes. And when you saw him downstairs at the breakfast buffet that morning,
it was clear you were going to do something with him. You didn't know what
yet, but you the two of you would do something, even if it was just a
quick, fleeting squeeze in the downstairs lobby bathroom.

Turned out, it was more.

His mom is busy making flippa-waffle for his sister. She's distracted. And
Mason, eating Fruit Loops and a banana looks up at you from across the
room.

He's so adorable, you can't help being goofy.

You cross your eyes and stick out your tongue.

He giggles. He flips you the bird.

You pretend to be shocked. You put your finger up your nose and dig a fake
booger out.

He giggles again. Makes a jack-off motion.

You do wide, fake-shocked eyes. Then you make the jack-off motion back at
him.

He smiles broadly.

He picks up a banana from his tray and holds it up next to his face.

Your eyebrows shoot up.

He looks around quickly to make sure nobody's watching. When he confirms
nobody is, he puts the banana in his mouth, blowjob style. Quickly. Looking
straight at you. He goes up and down on it, lightning fast, five quick
bobs, then takes it out and giggles.

You smile. Put your forefinger in your mouth. Suck it slowly. Up and
down. Looking right at him.

You point at him, and then at yourself:

You. Me.

You suck your finger again. You make an "o" with the thumb and forefinger
of your other hand.

You move the finger slowly in and out of the hole. Universal sign language
for fucking.

You make the finger-fuck sign, and your eye are probing question marks,
looking right at him.

His eyes widen. He gulps. Reaches down and adjusts his little peter in his
shorts.

He takes the banana again. This time he looks serious. He holds it in one
hand. Starts to jack it off in the other. Nods "yes." Lowers it down to his
shorts. He's about to put it under his butt. He's about to put the banana
near his butthole. But his mom comes back and he quickly stops.

You walk to the coffee. He gets up and follows. Walks to the juice.

"Hi," he says.

"Hi," you say. "What's your name?"

"Mason," he says. And his eyes are bright as sunshine.

"How old are you, Mason?" you ask quietly, reaching for a shot of
half-and-half and a sweet-and-low.

"Ten," he answers. Then with a giggle: "You made my wiener hard."

"You made my wiener hard too," you answer quietly. "Wanna look at each
other's hard wieners sometime, Mason?"

"Yeah," he giggles, but then nods toward his mom. "But we need a plan."

You laugh involuntarily. Just a little burst of surprise. So confident, so
self-assured. God, you love the directness of boys.

"We sure do need a plan," you laugh. "Got anything in mind?"

"My mom's going shopping," he says. "She always buys groceries when we stay
in hotels. She says its cheaper.

You nod. Apparently he knows what he's doing.

"I'll tell her I feel poopy," he says simply. "Diarrhea. She'll let me stay
behind. What room are you in?"

"209," you answer. "I hope you can come."

"I can't cum juice yet," Mason smiles. "But I can still get the feeling."

It's not what you meant by "I hope you can come," but who are you to argue?

"No juice is fine," you assure him. "I like boys who are too little to make
juice. They make me horny."

You let your finger run up his spine and you walk away. You can feel him
shiver and watch you leave.

Twenty minutes later, he taps on your door.

"We have to hurry," he says. "She'll be back in an hour."

With the meter running, you waste no time.

You both strip down. He is beautiful, uncut and surprisingly big. You
stroke his cock, finger his ass, and smile when he says "Hey!" at the anal
intrusion. He wasn't expecting that move.

"Want me to take it out?" you ask him.

"No," he giggles. "It feels kinda neat. It just never crossed my mind."

You laugh at that one. It just never crossed his mind. What a funny boy.

You finger him to the second knuckle, rub his little almond-prostate bud
and suck and stroke his cock until he cums. It's shivery and sweet, a
typical little-boy cum...the sudden tense-up, wonderful and done, over in a
minute, and rock hard and ready for another one three seconds later.

"My turn," you say, pointing to your hard leaky cock.

He straddles your legs, starts stroking your cock up and down. Wipes your
pre-cum on the bed sheet, a little confused by it.

You smell your finger as you watch him. The fingertip that was just up his
ass. It smells good. Earthy and rich.

He strokes you and giggles. He seems half-amused, half in awe. He does this
for several minutes and you're getting close.

He puts his mouth on your cock head tentatively. Then realizing it won't
bite him, he sucks hard. Lots of suction.

Slowly from midway-to-tip, he sucks hard, pulls up. Three sucks. Then
four. Slow ones. Good ones.

He pulls his mouth off. Makes a funny little face. Points to your pre-cum,
which is leaking again. Touches it with a finger and pulls it up, a sticky
web from fingertip to dick head.

"Is that cum?" he asks.

"Yeah," you tell him, not bothering to differentiate.

He giggles in impressed awe.

"I don't think I want that in my mouth," he grins.

"If you would have sucked it one more time, it would have shot," you tell
him.

"Really?" he smiles excitedly.

"Yeah," you say.

"Do it!" he says excitedly and jumps off to grab some Kleenex. He comes
back with a wad of tissues in his hand.

You start to jack it yourself, but he pushes your hand away and takes over.

"Do it," he giggles. "Make it shoot."

You do. His pretty little hand is stroking your cock, and you give him a
cum-show all right. All over your belly, your pubes and his tiny little
grasping hand. It's a gusher.

"Whoaaaah!" he yells, in a cute little boy voice. "Look at it go!!"

And fuck, it goes.

It juices.

White, thick man glue.

It juices all over the place.

He giggles. Squeezes your tip. Plays in it. Makes a mess like boys do. A
fun mess. He rubs it around on your tummy. Takes some of it and rubs it on
his own cock, which is hard again.

Kleenex forgotten he just rubs it on himself and plays in it. Rubs it all
over his cock. Even pushes a little of it up his ass. Tentatively at first,
then deeper. And oh fuck, is that hot.

When you blow him again for the second time and finger his tight asshole
one more time, you can taste your own cum on his cock. You get extra hard
licking your own cum off his cock, pretending it's his.  You lick his cock,
lick his perineum, finger his ass, the flavor of your cum all over
him. Dancing in your tastebuds as he pushes back on your finger.

"Ohhhh," he sighs. "I really like that finger part."

He grabs your head and pushes forward in your mouth and dry-cums again,
soft and satisfied. He sighs and smiles. He has to go.

You smell your finger as the door slowly swings shut behind him.

Sniff. Click. Gone.

Sweet, beautiful boy ass. You inhale it deeply and smile and sigh and drift
off to dreams.

What Mason did that morning when he got back to his own hotel room: His mom
wasn't back yet, so he locked the bathroom door, laid on the floor and
jacked off again, thinking of you. He sucked on his finger and pushed it up
his ass. He reconstituted some of your dry cum off his stomach with spit
and pushed that up his boyhole too. He'd jacked off lots of times before he
met you, but he never considered fingering his asshole while he did it. You
taught him that trick. And believe me, he's been grateful for the learning
ever since.

What Mason was doing a year later: He was still sticking things up his
11-year-old ass, that's for sure. His fingers, constantly. A toothbrush. A
carrot. A small peeled cucumber. A green Crayola crayon. Mason likes having
things up his ass since he met you. A candle. A Barbie doll head. A black
Sharpie marker. And three of the neighbor boys.

# # # # # # # # # #

Handjob #6.  Date: June 29, 2010.  Location: Arlington, Pantego Motor Lodge
off State Highway 360.  Boy: Eduardo, 13.

What you did with Eduardo: Everything.

Eduardo is a homeless boy you picked up hitchhiking. You picked him up
because he looked so much like Javi your heart almost stopped. At first you
thought he really was Javi. But that's not possible. That was four years
ago, and Javi would be, what? 16? 17 now? You still wonder about
him. Wonder if he's okay. Wonder if he still sleeps in the car overnight,
or propped up next to ice machines, while his mom turns tricks in motel
rooms. Most likely, you figure, he's long since left her.

"Hey," you say to Eduardo as he climbs up into your cab. "You look like
somebody I knew once."

"Knew once, or fucked once?" Eduardo asks. No beating around the bush with
this one.

"Both," you admit. "He was a pretty boy. So are you."

"Yeah, well. We all look alike," he shrugs.

"No you don't," you tell him, reaching over to lift his chin and look into
his eyes. "You don't look alike at all. He was pretty and so are
you. You're a pretty boy, Eduardo."

He turns his head down to hide a blush. Practiced or not, it's sweet when
he does it. But that's the problem with sweet and you. When you see sweet,
it makes your dick hard.

Eduardo tells you he was originally from Seattle, but he left when his best
friend Jasey found a man and left the streets for good. The man called him
Badger and took really good care of him. They were in love. And Eduardo
moved down the highway. And somehow he wound up in Texas.

Eduardo asks you if you want to take care of him and be in love. You could
be his special man and he could be your special boy. You can't, of course,
and you tell him, "sorry." Eduardo is sweet and certainly tempting, but his
life essentially, is bigger than you want to know about.

"I can't," you say. And you really regret it. "It's just not possible."

"I didn't think so," he sighs, then gives you a sparkly, all's-good
eye. "But you never know, right? It never hurts to ask."

You make love to Eduardo that night in the Pantego Motor Lodge off State
Highway 360. Dead-heading back from your last load, normally you'd just
pull over and catch 40 winks in your sleeper berth. Nothing like snoring in
the Tiltin' Hilton.

But Eduardo looks tired. He looks like a kid who could use a real bed and
the comforts of home. Or at least the comforts of a shower, clean sheets
and a TV with a couple dozen channels.

He showers forever. You hear him singing in in there. Moaning and sighing.

"Ohhhh, that feels good," you hear him say. "It's been days since I felt
this good. Days."

When a kid's that road weary, there's a soft spot in your heart. There's
very rarely one in your pants to match it, but your heart's soft at
least. A kid like Eduardo, that tired and road-worn, you're just inclined
to leave him alone so he can get some rest. Let him have a long hot shower
and one night without some horny guy pawing at him. You're happy just to
help.

But Eduardo comes to you anyway.

When he comes out of the shower, dry and smelling like cinnamon soap, he
doesn't even try to get into the second double bed. He comes to the one
you're in. He's naked and beautiful and unashamed.

You're lying on top of the covers, watching TV, but he takes the remote and
he turns it off.

"You're nice," he whispers. "I like you a lot."

"I like you back," you say. And you really do.

You're still in your jeans, but he unbuttons you and unzips you
expertly. He pulls them off. He unbuttons your shirt. He runs his hands
across your chest and whispers "daddy" so softly you can barely hear it.

He reaches down and slides off your underwear. Your cock is hard and he
knows he's the one who made it that way. He gives the tip a kiss and a
strand of pre-cum sticks to his lips. He licks it off with wide brown eyes
looking right at you.

He climbs on top of you, belly to belly, naked and cool from the shower and
the a/c, and begins to kiss you. He takes your face in his small hands and
kisses you sweetly, with lips, with tongue, with sugary nibbles.

Then he kisses you fully. Like a grown-up boy. Like a boy older than
12. Like a boy who knows men. Because of course, he does. His kisses are
sweet and they taste like soda. But they're also hungry, and they taste
like desire.

He reaches down and strokes your cock. Sweet, luxurious motor lodge
handjob. He couldn't possibly make you harder, but somehow he does. You're
leaking like crazy and his hand feels like magic.

You roll him over on his back and lifting his legs, you go down on his cock
and his asshole. He tastes clean and pure, like water and soap. He moans
while you eat him and he presses his ass against your mouth. You finger
him, kiss him, and suck his pretty balls.

"Put it in me," he whispers. "It's okay. I like it in me."

Lifting his legs, you line it up and push it in, a half-inch at a time,
going slow, letting him adjust. First sphincter, second sphincter, in. And
then you're fully balls deep, and he's moaning and you're fucking. In and
out, until you grab the bottom of his ass, pull him toward you forcefully,
lift his tiny ass off the bed and cum in him so deeply it makes the breath
leave his lungs.

"Nnngh!" he grunts, and he is shaking too. Little drops leaving his
cocklet, squirting on to his belly button, where you'll lick them off a
moment later.

You sleep and cuddle with him, nestling him in your arms, and he feels so
good. So right. In a different world, in a different life, you really would
be his special man. And he'd be your special boy. But that's not
real. Can't be, for a lot of reasons. But at least you have tonight.

Toward morning, you feel him spooning behind you, his arms wrapped around
your chest, his hard, hot spike pressing into the hot valley between your
ass cheeks. His cock is wet. He's lubed it with lotion.

"Can I fuck you?" he whispers softly.

You reach back and spread your ass. You push back against him and help him
get in.

He enters you quickly, five slender inches that feel like a shot, like a
poke, like a brief flash of pain, and then he starts pumping.

"Nnngh, nnggh," he grunts in rhythm.

"You like that, baby? You like fucking man ass?"

"So good," he says in a shaky voice. "So hot inside you."

"That's it, baby," you whisper back. "Fill me up. Make yourself a big boy
in me. Fuck my asshole, baby. Make yourself a big boy."

He does. He shudders. He shakes. He cums.

He leaves it inside you and falls instantly back asleep. You feel his
breath on the back of your neck. You feel his cock in your ass, still
hard. And most of all, you feel his dreams. Sweet, dreaming, lonely
boy. You hope he'll be happy someday.

And when you wake up, he's gone.

What Eduardo did after he left you: Found another ride. Hopped in another
truck. Arlington, Cleburne, and then down to Waco. Belton, Round Rock, and
then down to Austin. Which is where he met Baker. Which is where fell in
love.

What Eduardo was doing a year later: The man's name is Baker, and he really
is Eduardo's special man. Just like his friend Badger, Eduardo really is
Baker's special boy. They love each other immensely and they take care of
each other in ways they've both needed for a very long time. They have
incredibly fun and happy sex, because things really do work out for the
best sometimes. Sometimes life surprises you that way. And I'll tell you
their story too someday, because Eduardo really did get to live happily
ever after. He deserved it. He had it coming. He'd earned it a long, long
time ago.

# # # # # # # # # #

Handjob #7.  Date: January 6, 2011.  Location: Laredo, Southbound I-35 Rest
Stop.  Boy: Hunter, 11.

What you did with Hunter: Sucked him off in a toilet stall. Sucked his
amazingly large penis for a boy of 11. Was amazed by his copious cum
load. He jacked you off and you shot in his mouth.

"I really never do this," Hunter chirps happily as you lead him into the
last toilet stall. "I'm kind of excited."

"I can see that," you say, nodding down to the amazing lump in his
pants. "How big are you anyway, Hunter?"

"I don't know," he shrugs. "Six inches maybe?"

When he pulls down his pants and lets his dick spring free, you can't help
whistling.

"Whew," you say. "That's at least six, all right."

You're on your knees with your mouth watering already. Not only is it six
inches, but it's six inches that tastes great. Hunter's just a little guy,
but he's got a big flavor.

"We better hurry," you mumble with a mouth full of cock. Let me repeat
that. Mouth FULL of cock.

"Nah," Hunter shrugs. "My mom and dad won't mind. I do stuff with them all
the time."

"Oh, nnnnggh!" you moan, getting even harder. The thought of this
horse-cocked incest boy going for broke with his own flesh and blood is
more than you can stand. You unzip your pants and pull out your own cock.

"That's a good one," Hunter says, looking down. "I'll suck it when you're
done."

With that offer in the balance, you get him done in a hurry. He blasts into
your mouth and it almost chokes you.

"Fuck," you tell him, after you've gulped down his sugary sauce. "I don't
think most men even cum that much."

"Yeah," Hunter blushes. "Sorry about that. My mom says I cum more than
anybody. She likes it in her pussy."

"Lucky Mom," you say, pushing him down to his knees and offering him your
man shaft. "Open wide for me, baby. Nice big "O."

Hunter's blowjob is more of a handjob, but you don't mind. He gets his
little lips around it, but he doesn't take it in very far. But that's
okay. He gets it juicy and he strokes you to conclusion. What more can you
ask for from a boy of 11? He lets you shoot it in his mouth, jaw wide,
tongue out, but after you're done, he spits it on the floor. It drools out
in one big, sexy, stringy load. He scuffs it with his foot and it slimes
across the tile.

"Don't like the flavor?" you ask him.

"Not really," he shrugs. "Not as strong as my dad's though. His is really
wicked."

"Oh man, kid," you moan out loud. "You're doing it with Mommy AND Daddy?"

"Yep," he shrugs. "No big deal. My dad likes it up his ass. He's the one
who started me."

"How old were you," you wonder out loud.

"Six or seven," he says matter-of-factly, not at all bragging. "I was
always pretty big."

You give his dick a kiss and a sqeeze. It's a monster, all right.

"I bet you were," you say. You're still impressed.

Hunter goes to the sink and with a cupped palm full of water, rinses the
rest of your cum out of his mouth.

"Sorry," he shrugs apologetically. "Just not into it."

"No offense taken," you shrug. "I got my meal."

And you did. It was a big one.

"Okay, well, bye," Hunter shrugs, as he leaves you washing up. "Thanks for
the b.j."

"Don't hurt anybody with that thing, kid."

You wink. He smiles. Cute kid. He's gonna split somebody in two with that
thing someday.

What Hunter did that night when he got back home: Made love with his mom
and dad. He did his mom doggie while she whimpered and moaned. His dad
licked his nuts from behind and cheered him on. Fingered his ass a
little. Watched his son's thick cock slide in and out of his wife while he
jacked his own fuck stick. Slid up behind the boy and stuck it
in. Everybody came. Tangle of bodies, and everybody went to bed with a
smile on their face.

What Hunter was doing a year later: Impregnating Mom. Getting ready to
welcome his new baby sister into the family. Baby sister. Baby
daughter. Whatever. Same thing.

# # # # # # # # # #

Handjob #8.  Date: April 19, 2012.  Location: Dallas, CineQuest Movie
Theatres on Commerce St.  Boy: Jackson, 6.

What you did with Jackson: Jacked off standing at a urinal next to
him. Pants around his ankles, he's peeing alone when you enter the
bathroom. His ass is so cute, so with nobody else in there, you watch it
and stroke. Watch it and stroke. Look at him pee, look at his ass. Look at
him pee, look at his ass. Tick-tock, stroke your cock. You're almost ready
to blow in no time.

He follows your rhythm, wide-eyed in wonder. When you're almost ready to
shoot, you ask him to reach over and finish you off, and he does.

"Whoa," he says as your juice shoots out all over the porcelain. "That's
really neat."

"And it likes to go right HERE," you tell him, scooping up a hanging gob
from your shiny mushroom and pressing it just-like-THAT into the sticky
heat of his surprised, stinky rosebud with the pad of your happy
forefinger.

"Hey!" he squeaks, giving you a giggle. "You just put your juice in my
butt!"

"Yep," you grin.

"Right in my A-Hole!" he laughs.

"Right in your A-Hole," you agree.

"Come back after the movie and I'll put my weenie in there," you wink.

"That's the F-Word," he says with wide-eyes. "I'm still too little."

And he's right, of course. And he never comes back. You do check after his
movie lets out. Stand in a stall, just in case. But he's right. He's too
little.

You sniff your finger and enjoy the last lingering atoms of him.

Sweet kid. Sweet smell. Sweet memory.

What Jackson did that night when he got home: Looked at his pee-pee in the
mirror and wished it was as big as the movie man's. Touched his own
butthole, still squishy with movie-man juice. Smelled his finger. Smelled
like movie-man juice and butt. All his life, he'll get hard smelling man
juice and butt. Those two desires will never leave him.

What Jackson was doing a year later: Learning how to jack off with his
friend Dommie, which is short for Dominic. They played a game called Doggie
Sniffers, where they'd pull down their pants and crawl up behind each other
and smell each other's butts. They also did the F-word in each other's
A-Holes. That was the part Jackson really liked. Especially when Dommie's
16-year-old brother Casey joined in. Jackson found out that teenage man
juice was every bit as sticky and fun as grown-up movie-man juice. And he
sort of had an endless supply.

# # # # # # # # # #

Handjob #9.  Date: January 20, 2013.  Location: Lubbock, Jerry's 62
Filler-Up off I-27.  Boy: Sebastian, 15.

What you did with Sebastian: Almost got your cock bit off.

Every once in a while it happens. Call it poetic justice, karma, bad luck
Charlie, or cosmic cum-uppance, but every once in a while, a boy does NOT
appreciate your advances. And that was certainly the case with Sebastian.

"Call me Bastian," he said, "like the kid from Neverending Story."

Neverending Cock Bite, you thought grimly after the fact, but when you
first met him, hell, you'd have called him Jennifer if it meant getting
your pole sucked.

You were at Jerry's 62 off the I-27, bobtailing back from a load you'd
dropped off up in Lorenzo. You'd just filled up and were inside getting
water and corn chips when you saw him over the candy bars.

"Hey," you nodded.

"Hey back," he said, with a knowing smile. You could tell the ones who'd
done it before. You know that smile and you know that look. You meet a lot
of boys and see a lot of smiles. After 20 years and a million miles on the
road you know the difference between a "hi" smile and a "fuck me"
smile. And Bastian gave you the "fuck me" smile.

"You wanna?" he says, nodding toward the bathroom.

"Oh, I wanna BAD," you tell him, holding out your hand. "Lead the way,
kid."

He goes in the one room schoolhouse, shuts the door behind him. You wait
thirty seconds, then follow him in. Turn around. Lock the door.

There he is on the throne, pants around his ankles, gorgeous cock, already
stroking it. He's about 14, 15, you guess. Nice set of brown pubes. Cut
cock, thick as a brick.

"You want head?" you ask him.

"Nah, just jack me man."

He stands up and lets you do the deed. He turns around and lets you jack
him from behind. Your cock is hard in your pants and rubbing across his
bare asshole as you jack him. Pressing into him. Grinding into his
crevice. You start to unsnap.

"Nuh-uh," he says. "I don't fuck."

"Well, that's no fun," you tell him honestly.

"But jack me off and I'll eat your load," he says. And, why the hell not,
you take him at his word.

He cums in a flash, thick pudding-white jizz that gobs into the toilet. He
turns around and gets on his knees.

"Oh yeah," you grunt. "That's what I like to see. A boy getting ready to
pray."

He smiles at you. Honestly looks up and smiles, and opens wide. You stick
your cock forward, open the pod bay doors, Hal, and in it goes, right
inside him, throat deep and happy. And you're just about to tell him how
good it feels, when WHAM! Out of nowhere, the little fucker bites you!!!

"JEEEZUS!" you scream, jumping back and taking him with you. "WHAT THE
FUCK??"

He's still latched on! Grinning and biting!!!

"OW, YOU LITTLE SHIT!"

You reach forward, pry his mouth off, and damn if he's not laughing.

"Sorry," he shrugs. "I always wanted to do that?"

"Ow!" you tell him, with an incredulous look on your face. "You just bit my
COCK!"

"Yeah," he giggles. "Sorry. Bad impulse control."

"JESUS!"

It hurts!

You look down, expecting to see blood, and thank God there isn't any.

"Jesus kid, you really bit me!"

He smiles. Shrugs.

"Come here," he grins. "I'll make it up to you." He opens his mouth again.

"No fucking way!" you tell him. "I'm not putting it in there again! Lesson
learned!"

"Aw, come on," he grins. "I was just messing around. I'll be good this
time. Promise."

"Nuh-uh," you tell him. "Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame
on me!"

He giggles.

Damn it, your cock hurts.

You wish you could say it hurt your pride more than it hurt your cock. But
fuck no! It hurt your COCK more! He bit your fucking COCK!

Anyway, you definitely lost the mood. You pull up your pants. Easy on the
undies, man. That thing hurts. You leave the bathroom hammer down, get your
chips and water and make like a tree and leave. You imagine him in their
giggling the whole time.

Fuck. You gotta stop going after the older ones. They've got a mean streak.

It'll be a long time before you're brave enough to put your dick in a boy's
mouth again. And about a week and a half before you can whack off
comfortably. Crazy people out there, you think to yourself, buying a
Slurpee to numb your lap as you drive the fuck away from that crazy
place. Crazy, crazy people out there. And not all of them are grown-ups.

What Sebastian did after you ran out of the bathroom: Laughed some
more. Tasted your cock on his tongue. Smelled your cock on his hand. Jacked
off, remembering the priceless look on your face when he bit you. Bastian's
a biter. You were number two that day. It's his favorite game. And since he
gives the guy who owns the convenience store a little head every now and
then (and does not bite him) the guy lets him hang around and use the
bathroom all day long.

What Sebastian was doing a year later: Taking it long and deep from a
driver who picked him up in a rest stop outside of Slaton. He bit the guy
right square in the bag, but the guy didn't even care. "Do that again," he
grinned at Bastian, slicking up a finger in his mouth and looking for a
place to put it. Bastian was impressed. Got in the guy's truck and did it
with him in the Tiltin' Hilton. Did it with him twice. Once on his knees
and once with his legs up in the air. He got it good and hard and didn't
feel so much like biting after that. You might say the guy fucked the bite
right out of him. He got the guy's phone number and told him, "Hey, if
you're ever in Lubbock." Left it open-ended. And it turns out, the guy's in
Lubbock all the time. Well, he is now, anyway. And that sure gives Bastian
something to chew on.

# # # # # # # # # #

Handjob #10.  Date: August 16, 2014.  Location: San Antonio, your house in
Potranco.  Boy: Brady, 9.

His kiss was bright red and he tasted like fruit punch. He had a Kool-Aid
mustache when you kissed him.

"You're home, Daddy! Yay! You're home!"

"Thanks, Jen," you say to your sister, as you pick him up – literally
pick him up and swing him in your arms.

She smiles at the two of you. "No problem," she says. "He was good as gold,
as always."

"Are you home for a while now, Daddy?" he pouts.

"Yeah, baby," you tell him, swinging him onto your shoulders. "Home for
three weeks. Taking some time off to spend with my favorite little man."

"Yay," he giggles, scruffing your head. You toss him up in the truck cab
and wave to your sister, smiling in the lawn.

What you do with Brady when you get home that night: Make him dinner. Let
him rummage through your duffel bag for candy and souvenirs. Watch him take
his bath. Splash him with bubbles. Help him into his jammas and kiss his
clean, sweet forehead.

What Brady does that night when he climbs into bed with you: He comes to
you like he always does when you come home after a long haul. He wraps his
arms around you, soft and sweet. He smells like boy and baby powder.

You've known a lot of boys since the year Brady was born and your wife died
in childbirth. The year your sister moved in down the block to help raise
him when you were away on the road.

There was Jesse, who blew you in 2005 in Amarillo. "I like how cock
smells," he told you, sniffing his hand before you unloaded in his mouth.

There was Javier, who swore at you in Spanish as you fucked him all night
long in El Paso in 2006. He was mad at his mother, not at you, and the
second time he came to you, he was soft and crying, apologetic and tender.

Then came Colt in a restaurant in Houston, 2007. You jacked him off in the
men's room. Sucked his little acorn tip and helped him get his tingles. He
was only 8 and he smelled like graham crackers. Kind of the way your son
smells now.

Caleb was next in 2008, in a truck stop outside of Fort Worth. "Wanna shoot
in on my titties?" he asked you, as you shot your jizz all over his chest
and watched a big hot glob swing dangling from his nipple ring.

In 2009 it was Mason, the bright-eyed breakfast scamp in Corpus Christi who
yelled "Whoa! Look at it go!" when he watched you cum, and when you mopped
it up and pushed it in his pucker, admitted "I like that finger part."

Then came Eduardo 2010. Sweet Eduardo who you picked up hitchhiking just
outside of Arlington. You spent the night in a motor lodge where you made
love to him and he made love to you. You still wondered if he ever found
his special man.

Hunter was next in 2011, with a cock the size of a moose and a cumload to
match. He fucked his mom, he fucked his dad, and rinsed your cum out of his
mouth in the sink of the I-35 rest stop in Laredo.

In 2012, it was Jackson in Dallas. Sweet little Jackson who liked to be
fingered and liked how it smelled, who squeaked and giggled, "Hey! You just
put your juice in my butt. Right in my A-Hole!" You smelled your finger and
liked how it smelled, too. You smiled and smelled for the next 50 miles.

And last year, 2013, you almost got your cock bit off in Lubbock by
Bastian, a nasty boy who opened real wide but closed too hard. But that's
okay. No permanent harm. And every once in a while you have to take one for
the team.

Nine beautiful boys. Nine beautiful handjobs. The best little handjobs in
Texas. And blowjobs. And fuckjobs. And now you were home.

And never out of any of them did you find a boy to love longer and more
completely than your own son Brady. He's your world, your soul, and he's
better than them all.

"I love you, Daddy," he whispers softly.

"I love you, baby," you whisper back.

Gently, he reaches down to take your cock in his hand. It hardens at his
touch, the way it always does when he brings you home.

He stretches up and kisses your lips. Soft, special boy kisses he only
gives to you. Pecks at first, then all grown-up. Big boy kisses with
whimpers, with tongue. With happiness you're back again.

The night closes in and the crickets are chirping. The stars at night are
big and bright. You're home. You're safe. You're entirely serene. Your
little boy is in your arms and life has never been better.

You lift his legs and he sighs and giggles as your face closes in to taste
what you've been missing these many long miles. He wraps his little hands
in your hair and guides you down.

Just you and Brady and the Texas moon.

And miles to go before you sleep, and miles to go before you sleep.

# # # # # # # # # #

Love,
Zachyboy
z.blake@mail.com